Peaches
by September Shadows
Summary: When Kitty eats peaches, she can't help but remember...Oneshot


**A/n:** The writings a bit scattery, and that to you could either be a metaphor for Kitty's mind and the vagueness of childhood memories, or an example of how crap I am at writing lovely ordered things. Your choice.

_Why I chose to write about Kitty: Kitty is a bit unimportant in Pride and Predjudice. She has no real place but as the giggly fourth daughter and Lydia's lackey. In fact, she isn't even featured in the parody, _Bride and Predjudice_. But she can't have always been Lydia's faithful follower; in the way of the world no four year old is going to lap down the words of a two year old, nor an eight year old of a six._

* * *

When Kitty eats peaches, she remembers summers spent on Aunt Anne's farm, before she and Mama quarreled, before she threw away her fruit. As she bites into the globe, nestled in her hand, she remembers sunshine and laughter, she remembers freedom and happiness. She remembers such joy that she devours the fruit all too quickly. But with each hasty bite, chew and swallow, she finds herself tasting her past, inhaling the smell of innocence and love. 

When Kitty eats peaches, she remembers cart wheeling through fields of heather, plaits curled into a bun, dress drenched in dirt. She remembers when Lydia was too young to tell her it was too boyish, when her mother was too worried about the littlest Bennet to mind when her second youngest chased the pigs on Aunt Anne's farm, tucking her hem into her knickers to stop it getting in the way. The sweet taste reminds her of Aunt Anne's sweet nature; sugary and liberated, as she milked the cows in her dirty brown apron and told tales of her own childhood, still whilst squeezing the udders. The sharp crunch reminds her of Henry's sharp tongue, his manipulating ways, his crude sense of humour - yet the tender flesh is like his heart, hidden beneath the leathery skin, so very delicious when reached.

When Kitty eats peaches, she remembers sitting in Aunt Anne's drawing room, trying to be as perfect as her sisters; as graceful as Jane; as witty as Lizzie, as intelligent as Mary; as charming as Lydia. She remembers feeling envious of Henry's brown breeches and his gleaming leather boots, and watching from the window as he helps on the farm. She remembers the way he waved her down, and she the way she clattered down towards him, regretting her cream clothing. The slight tang is the tainted, sour way in which she reveled in her rebellion, all the while knowing she would be caught trying to release the chickens (not that all these year on she can remember why). The sticky nectar reminds her of the sticky situation: mud streaked on her face as she awkwardly faced her punishment.

When Kitty eats peaches, she remembers stolen kisses: sweet, sour, sticky, tangy - incredibly scrumptious. She remembers those first moments of romance, those first bites of ripe fruit that leave you with the most wonderful taste in your mouth. The soft pink of the peach, the soft colour of Henry's lips as they crushed hers, devouring her, empowering her. She remembers her first ball, her first dance - not with Henry; and she remembers wishing it was. She remembers those first steps into womanhood, and the dawning realisation that this peach is, after all, just a peach.

When Kitty eats peaches, she remembers Lydia's words, urging her to let the seed drop. She's finished this peach; there is no more flesh on the seed (though Kitty is sure if she sucks on the core hard enough, she will find more). She remembers the way Lydia made is seem perfectly sensible, despite being anything but sensible herself. She remembers, as she drops the seed, the odd emptiness of her hand, her stomach, her heart, after relishing the taste for so long. She tells herself he wasn't good enough; Henry was of too poor a circumstance, too low a birth and far too much of a character to make a move into society.

When Kitty has finished with her peach, she throws away the stone, and tries to forget about it. But soon a peach tree grows there, and upon its pale fingered branches many more peaches burst into fruit, allowing her choice – sometimes she picks them before they are truly ripe, and those are pretty disgusting, and sometimes they are _too_ ripe and mush in her mouth, but she does not mind, for they are still peaches.

When Kitty gazes at the peaches that load the branches above her, her memories make those peaches sweeter. Perhaps it wasn't as perfectly succulent as she remembers, and it's just the flavouring of nostalgia.

Afterall, Carter's a peach too. An extremely juicy one at that.

Kitty giggles and her moments of remembrance are squashed to the back of her mind. Oh how handsome he looked in his regimentals last night! So dazzling in his red coat and cream breachers! And then the sound of clattering hooves and wheels grinding over gravel send her leaping to the house, shreiking in delight for Lydia to come see who's here - it's only Mr. Bingley come for Jane's hand (she is sure he must want it after the ball!).

When Kitty eats peaches with her husband at their wedding, she really rather would not remember anything. She does not want to know of anything but the man who's hand she clutches; her darling Carter's. He is her world now. She has relinquished her freedom for the safety and love he offers, and she loves every minute of the security she has been enveloped in. Not that there is no other attraction: he is the handsomest man in the gathering, and she the handsomest girl. Nothing could spoil the sweet taste that bursts into her mouth. Not one black haired boy in brown breeches with whom she cartwheeled through fields of heather, not one little bitter bite.


End file.
